


Berry Tarts

by AmanaMistleaf



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Baking, Canonical Character Death, Crying, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:40:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23171827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmanaMistleaf/pseuds/AmanaMistleaf
Summary: Byleth continues to grieve for her departed father. Claude does what he can to help ease the pain.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 83





	Berry Tarts

**Author's Note:**

> May I offer you a wholesome Claude in these trying times?

Claude wiped his sweaty brow with his sleeve, careful not to let any of it fall into the flaky dough he was kneading. The blaze of the kitchen around him did wonders to block out the biting winter chill, but the roaring fires in such a closed space was a little too much. Still, it wasn’t as bad as the kitchens in Almyran summers. _Those_ were hotter than even a fully steamed sauna.

Once the pastry was fully kneaded, Claude cut out the proper sizes of dough and pressed them into the tiny molds, careful not to tear the surface. Once that task was finished, he turned his attention to the cooling saucepan full of mixed berries. He grabbed a spoon and took a bit out, tasting the sweet substance.

 _It could use more cinnamon…_ He thought to himself as he added a dash of the spice and stirred. Once the flavor was just right, he set the berries on the windowsill, letting the stones cool them down. As he waited, he cleaned up the kitchen: getting rid of scraps, dusting away the flour, and putting the leftover fruits in the compost bin. The only thing he didn’t do was wash the dishes, which the head scullery maid demanded he avoids due to that incident however many months ago.

With the surfaces cleared off and dishes in the sink, he returned to the cooled down pot. He carefully spooned enough of the substance into the tins. Once that was done, he covered the filling with a smaller circle of dough and since he has some extra, added a rim of braids around each tart; he also made sure to cut slits onto the top layer (his old cooking teacher would never let him live the pie explosion incident down). Finally, he was able to place the tray of tarts into the oven.

He stepped back, dusting off his flour-covered hands. “And now, we wait.”

…

The tarts were still warm in the basket as he trekked through the Monastery, adjusting his heavy fur cloak every now and then. Freshly fallen snow clung to his dark brown curls, and Claude had to be careful not to slip on the frozen ground. The warm front of the previous month had disappeared, making way to cold weather. Fódlan winters were a rude awakening during his first year here - hell, they still were. In Almyra, winter meant the rainy season - so much milder weather and frequent rainstorms. In Fódlan, they meant harsh, freezing cold temperatures and snow; his grandfather, still to this day, remained amused by Claude’s bewilderment at seeing his first snow.

He gave easy smiles to anyone who passed and greeted him, which was about a 50/50 shot. He had a mission to take care of and could waste no time talking to other people; the tarts would grow cold and that would simply defeat the purpose of why he made them fresh. Luckily, his destination wasn’t too far from the dining hall.

He finally reached the door of his objective, knocking exactly four times with the last one quieter than its predecessors. The person inside didn’t even need to ask who was outside her door. Within seconds, the door creaked open to reveal Byleth, dressed up in cozy winter clothes and eyes puffy.

Claude held up the basket, flashing her a wink. “Heya, Teach. I got some treats for ya. Mind if I come in?”

The teacher nodded, stepping to the side and letting him in. He found an empty space on her desk (which was full of other sweets, gifts, flowers, and some jerky courtesy of Raphael) and set the basket down. “How are you feeling today?” Claude asked, turning back to his Teach.

Byleth sat down on the bed, gesturing for him to do the same. He did so without hesitation. “Better...it still hurts, but better.”

“That’s good. And expected.” He smiled at her - one that reached his eyes. “Human emotions are complex things, after all.”

She nodded, fidgeting with her shirt sleeve. “I-I think I’m ready to go back to teaching...how have Hanneman and Manuela been fairing with the Deer?”

“All I can say is that Professor Hanneman _really_ makes me appreciate your teaching style more,” Claude groaned. “I would have asked to be put in Professor Manuela’s half, but then I would be in a class with Miss ‘I-Think-Crying-Is-A-Weakness’. Seriously. How can the Black Eagles stand her?”

The teacher giggled, covering her mouth with her small hand. The sound was music to his ears. “Come on now, Edelgard _did_ apologize for her words.”

“Teach, trust me when I say I can smell lies from ten miles away, and thus know when apologies are half-assed.”

Something flashed in her violet eyes, but he chose to ignore it. Instead, he stood up and retrieved the basket. “Here. Before they go cold.” He fished one of the tarts out of the basket and held it out for her. “Fresh out of the oven and made by yours truly!”

She eyes him, then the pastry, and then him again, giving the tart a tentative sniff. 

“They’re not poisoned this time! Promise!” _Even then, that one time was an accident…_

Byleth laughed again and bit into the tart, humming at the flavor. “Thank you, Claude,” she said, mouth half-full. She hummed thoughtfully, brows furrowing in curiosity. “Did you add cinnamon?”

He would have made a witty remark to that, something to break the awkwardness he was beginning to sense. But instead, he said: “You like cinnamon.” _Nice. Smooth, Claude._

“I do indeed.” He took a tart for himself and sat back down. The two ate in silence for the rest of their time, passing a few words every now and then; at some point, Byleth brewed them some tea to wash down the flakey pastry. The basket was empty within an hour.

When their teacups ran dry as well, Claude decided that was enough alone time. Normally, he would have stayed much, _much_ longer, but he had homework to figure out. He might have to ask Dimitri for help (not that he was incapable of doing it on his own, but Professor Hanneman’s work was _impossible_ to read).

As he was packing up, he noticed Byleth return to her spot on the corner of the bed, knees tucked tightly to her chest and gaze forlorn. Claude was happy, genuinely happy, to see her show emotion. Her smiles, her laugh, her angry, firey-eyes, even her sighs of disappointment or annoyance; however, sadness was one he did not enjoy.

He crossed over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to force yourself to work,” he whispered. “Come back when you’re ready, kay?”

She nodded, tears beginning to prick in her eyes. “Okay…” Her voice was tight. “Thank you, Claude. For everything.”

“Anything for you, Teach.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I needed to write some good ole hurt/comfort because let's be honest the world is kind of a mess right now. I'm also going through some pretty rough stuff so I really, really needed this.


End file.
